Wicked and Wonderful (11 page)

She hardly knew what to do. She gestured to her poor stool, which would hardly be comfortable for him since he was such a tall, muscular man. “Will you sit down then?”

He did not even glance at the stool but rather shook his head. “I thank you, no.”

“Kelthorne, I do not pretend to know you very well, but you seem overset. Perhaps you should leave now and call on me tomorrow when your mind is more settled.”

He shook his head. “That will never do. I do not understand this hold you have over me. When I watch you perform, it is as though you reach inside me, take hold of my heart, and refuse to let go. I have been trying to mend my ways. I have intended to make a fresh start of things. But this, this power you exert is in no manner fair to me. I wish you would desist.”

Judith hardly knew what to make of this speech except that she thought it the most ridiculous thing in the world that he would blame her for his present feelings, which to her seemed odd in the extreme. In fact, so strange was his conduct that she sat down on her bed, carefully of course lest the corner give way again, and she slowly slipped her hand beneath her pillow. Her dagger waited there. She had used it more than once to chase away the unwanted attentions of a man. John had taught her well how to wield a blade, never to lift her arm high and always to keep the sharp edge at an upward slant.

He dropped to his knees before her and placed his hands on her legs. “Let me go, Judith, I beg of you.”

“You should leave now, my lord. Again, you are hardly making the smallest sense.” Her hand trembled on the dagger. She knew the moment was ripe, that she ought to make her sentiments more clearly known by exposing her weapon, still she restrained herself, especially since for some reason she found it quite difficult to breathe. His hands were uncommonly warm through the thin muslin.

He searched each of her features in turn then let his gaze drift over her long, dangling locks.

He slid his hands into her hair and took hold of thick portions of it. “I knew your hair would feel like this.” Leaning close, he added, “And it smells so fresh, like the earth after a day of rain.”

“I washed it only this morning,” she whispered, her fingers loosening from about the dagger’s handle.

“You smell of flowers,” he said, breathing against her neck so that chills raced up and down her side.

She gasped faintly.

She was reminded of the night in the orchard and she barely restrained a groan from escaping her lips. She should push him away. She should tell him to stop. She should use the dagger at once.

Instead, she closed her eyes, released the weapon, and sighed with great pleasure for he was now kissing her neck, not precisely as he had on that first night, but with gentle and very moist touches of his lips in a long descending string.

“Lavender,” he whispered.

“Yes,” was her nearly incoherent response as she settled her arms over his back.

He leaned back and bade her look at him, but her arms remained to encircle his neck. “Tell me what this power is that you have?” he asked

She smiled, if sadly. “Only if you tell me what yours is over my ridiculously weak sensibilities. I had intended upon harming you.” Only then did she withdraw an arm from him in order to lift her pillow and expose the small weapon.

His brows lifted but he smiled. “And you know how to use it properly?”

“I have been taught by the men of the troupe, many of which come from the worst parts of London. Yes, my lord, I know how to use a dagger.”

His smile did not dim but tenderness entered his eyes. Her arm returned to lie gently across his back.

“Why do you speak as a lady of quality?” he asked. “Is this part of your acting abilities for it seems so natural to you.”

How could she tell him the truth, a truth she had spoken to no one? Once she uttered Stolford’s name she knew it would be as a cry to him from the darkest places of the earth. His heart was evil and she dared not reveal to anyone who he was to her.

Therefore, she said, “If you have found me in the midst of an acting troupe, then whatever my story, it cannot be a good one. Suffice it to say, that for eight years this has been my home and these people my family.”

“I suppose you are right. It hardly matters.”

“The minutes are passing, my lord. You should leave now.” But she did not want him to go.

He narrowed his gaze as though filled with a hundred thoughts at once. “I made a promise to Mrs. Ash that I would do so, but not just yet.” Before she knew what he was about, he rose, pulling her up with him, and took her in his arms and kissed her.

Judith felt just as she had in the orchard, as though each of her joints had suddenly melted within her. Her legs could no longer support her and she was convinced she would have fallen had he not held her so tightly. Perhaps she should try to resist him, but there was something about Kelthorne that revealed the deepest longings of her heart, a yearning for the life she had forsaken so many years ago.

Therefore, she held him tightly, clinging to him as he searched her lips and then her mouth, tasting of her and exploring her in a way she had thought never to experience. Was this love, her heart asked? Surely that was impossible for she scarcely knew him just as he knew little of her, but, oh, how sweet was the delight of embracing this man and feeling the strength of his arms about her.

In truth, no one really knew her. Though Margaret understood her best of all, even she was not privy to the deepest secrets of her heart. Could she ever reveal such depths of desire to Kelthorne?

Perhaps not in words for she hardly knew him, but she could speak her heart in how firmly she wrapped her arms about his neck, how forcefully she returned his kisses, how wet her cheeks became with unexpected tears.

He drew back. “What is this?” he asked softly. He still held her close, but he thumbed his own face, which had grown wet with her tears. Then he gently wiped her cheeks dry.

“I do not know,” she said. “You spoke of needing me to let you go but tell me, my lord, what is this power you hold over me to make me feel such things as profoundly as I do? It is a very great mystery and one I would wish away for it frightens me. It is almost as though you know me to the very depths of my soul but that is impossible. Or perhaps your attentions cause me to want to be known.”

“I do want to know you,” he whispered, “desperately.” He kissed her again and again, the precious minutes diminishing one by one and far too quickly.

The time together felt stolen. Margaret would be at her tent door at any moment only she did not want Kelthorne to leave. She wanted him just as she had told him in the orchard to be kept chained to her bed.

What wicked thoughts and yet how sweet his lips were pressed to hers. How fierce the ache in her heart. How great her longing to have him stay with her forever.

A scratching on the canvas forced her to step out of the tight circle of his arms and to gather her shawl about her shoulders once more. “Come” she murmured.

Margaret peeked her head inside. “Ye must leave, milord,” she said quietly. “Ye made a promise.”

“Yes, of course.” He held Judith’s gaze for a very long moment. Finally, he drew in a deep breath, bowed quite formally to her, then turned and was gone.

Margaret remained. Judith felt tears start to her eyes all over again before she could stop them. She began to tremble. Margaret did not hesitate but gathered her gently in her arms and held her close. Judith began to weep, incomprehensibly so. What had Kelthorne done to her that the moment he was gone she collapsed into a fit of tears?

“What is happening to me?” she whispered.

“There, there,” Margaret murmured, petting her head as though she were a child.

After a long moment, Judith drew away and sought her kerchief. She blew her nose soundly and confronted her friend. “You should not have permitted him to come to me.” More tears poured from her eyes.

Margaret’s eyes were watery as well. “I did not think t’would do ye harm.”

“How can you speak so? Do you not understand that he kissed me again and that his kisses make me desire things I cannot have?”

“Why can ye not have such things?”

Judith stared at her thinking she must be daft to have asked such an absurd question. “Because he is an earl and I am a mere songstress in an acting troupe, that is why. And because he is a rogue and probably has no more real interest in me than he does for Betty or Angelique or Kitty or Lydia. ”

Margaret nodded sagely. “I see,” she said. “Well, then, ye had best not encourage him by throwing yer arms about his neck.”

With that, Margaret shook her head and left the tent.

Judith stood staring at the canvas door and began to feel quite illused. Margaret had sent Kelthorne to her. She had not asked for him to come to her tent and as for throwing her arms about his neck, just how was she not to have done so?

She dropped onto her bed ready to cry anew but the deuced leg snapped again and the next moment she was bounced forward and did a complete somersault hitting her foot on the stool by the door.

She sat up laughing and rubbing her poor foot. She had been ridiculous tonight. If her heart was burning and even more so now because she had been kissed again, t’was her own fault and no one else’s.

With that, she rose to her feet, restored the weak leg, climbed into bed and prepared to spend the next hour or so fortifying her mind against any future assault on her sensibilities—or her lips—by the Earl of Kelthorne.

*** *** ***

Kelthorne walked back to the castle, not knowing even to the smallest degree just what he was to do with the profound desire he felt for Judith. He believed quite fully that he could seduce her if he so desired, since once she was captive in his arms, she withheld very little from him.

But what of Abigail Currivard? How could he in any manner justify pursuing Judith when a lady he might possibly make his wife was presently residing beneath his roof?

And what of his recent vows? When he had determined to reorder his life, to leave off his roguish ways, it had not been on a whim. Only, he had not planned on meeting Judith Lovington, beneath a late-summer moon, in his orchard.

As he drew near the steep rise to the castle and house proper, he heard Miss Currivard’s laughter coming faintly from one of the upper windows. He suspected she was in the billiard room. A moment later, he heard Laurence’s voice as well and then the laughter of another female, perhaps Miss Banwell.

It would seem the castle had not gone to sleep as he had hoped. In truth, once he left the camp, he had not wanted to speak with anyone upon his return. He had desired only the solitude of his bedchamber hoping for more time to reflect. Most particularly, he was trying to determine just why, when Miss Currivard was present in his house, he had become obsessed with seeking Judith out.

He met his butler in the entrance hall. “Why have you not retired?” he asked. “‘Tis very late.”

His butler, Coxley, smiled crookedly as was his way and shook his head. “‘Tis been a long time since the castle was so merry. ‘Tis no trouble, I promise ye that, milord.”

“Very well, but you must know I do not require that you wait on my guests past midnight. We all know the way to the cellars which, as you know, is all we truly want at this hour.”

“Very good, very good, and just as it should be for the young folk. You will find Mr. Doulting, Miss Banwell and Miss Currivard in the billiard room."

“As I suspected. Thank you.”

He made his way up the stairs to the first floor and paused outside the door. Laurence, clearly half-foxed, appeared to be entertaining the ladies exceedingly well for they were both laughing, almost hysterically.

“No, no,” Miss Currivard said. “You must desist, Mr. Doulting. Oh, I cannot catch my breath. I do not know when I have had such a gay time. ”

Laurence’s voice rang out. “And here is the Prince Regent mounting a horse.”

From the placement of the doorway, Kelthorne was able to glance inside without being seen. The ladies’ backs were to him. Laurence sported some sort of tablecloth folded about his neck and stuffed into his breeches. A pillow underneath gave the impression of great portliness. Kelthorne rather doubted that the corpulent Prince Regent would appreciate being mimicked by Laurence, who attempted but failed time and again to get a leg over a footstool.

Once more the ladies began to laugh and the more Laurence made his faltering attempts, each time tumbling to the floor, the harder the ladies laughed.

“Are you in need of assistance?” Kelthorne called out at last.

The ladies immediately ceased their laughter, turning around to greet him, their eyes bright with merriment.

“You have come just at the right time,” Miss Banwell said gaily. “For Mr. Doulting has been entertaining us quite to perfection as you can see and this is his best impression yet.”

Laurence was now astride the footstool and pretending to gallop. “Hallo, Aubrey. What do you think of my mount?”

“Almost as ridiculous as you are.”

Suddenly, Laurence stopped pretending to gallop and instead began to weave from side to side. “Why is the house moving?” he inquired.

Miss Currivard instantly left her seat and extended her hands down to him. “I told you not to drink that last snifter. It was half full. Are you going to be ill?”

Laurence smiled sloppily up into her face and took her hands in his. “Never, with such beauty before me. Aubrey, is she not an angel?” Miss Currivard lifted him slowly to his feet.

“Of course she is.” He moved swiftly to offer Laurence the support of his arm about his shoulder, which his friend accepted. He guided him to the sofa where he bid him lie down. “And no more brandy for you, ridiculous gudgeon.”

“Miss Currivard!” Laurence cried. “The prince in a state of drunkenness.” He puffed out his cheeks until his face turned red. It was a stunning likeness.

Once more the ladies burst into laughter.

“I saw him once just like that!” Miss Banwell exclaimed. “At Carlton House this very season past. Mr. Doulting, I believe you may be a genius.”